The remainder of the weekend holds little memory for me. Dad drove me back to the hospital on the Sunday evening a we talked of the weeks to follow.
Later, I came to realise that Dad would not have known anyone who had survived this disease. He definitely was more afraid than 1. “How did my son contract this? Is it in the family? Is it something we’ve done or been?”
I must, at this, point attempt to describe why the bone marrow, biopsy was so dreaded.
Blood testing was extremely common throughout my period of treatment, and became a comparatively minor inconvenience Every visit was accompanied by this jabbing. The bone marrow biopsy was the only facet of the treatment capable of producing real pain, and was never volunteered for.
The bone marrow nestles in the hollow of the bones and a major site for the production of blood cells. It is here that cancerous cells were formed, so its examination is vital in determining the progression, or otherwise, of the disease. Valuable it may be, but easily accessible it is definitely not.
The two places large enough to supply adequate samples, and yet close to the skin, are the sternum or breastbone, and the upper portion of the pelvic in the lower back. In my case, the pelvis was the region often used for this testing.
My first experience of this procedure was unforgettable and the least painful - psychological preparation by nurses who were familiar with potential for pain, the disorientation of awakening to artificial light in the ward at some unearthly hour, the sense of fear as I was wheeled on a trolley to the Haematology Procedure Room, and then my first general anaesthetic.
As the milky fluid slipped silently into my vein, I followed the direction of counting upwards from one.
"One ... two ... ," in my nervousness I had focused on the miniature holes in the ceiling, and they had become the subject of my count. Consciousness was lost quickly.
faffajane
Pro 
Hugs xxx and thanks for sharing.